We Belong
by DianeB
Summary: <html><head></head>Just having another look at the S3 episode, "Breaking Up is Hard to Do," adding narrative and missing scenes to what was undeniably a heart-wrenching episode.  Louisa's point of view.</html>
1. Despair

Title: We Belong, Chapter 1 (Despair)  
><span>Author<span>: DianeB  
><span>Rating<span>: PG-13  
><span>Pairing<span>: Martin/Louisa

Summary: Just having another look at the S3 episode, "Breaking Up is Hard to Do," adding narrative and missing scenes to what was undeniably a heart-wrenching episode. Louisa's point of view.

A/N: Many thanks to **Littleguinea** from fanficdotnet for her fair eye to editing and to checking the "Americanisms." Story title comes from a song of the same name. Written April, 2011.

Disclaimer: This story is for entertainment purposes only. I claim no right to anything affiliated with _Doc Martin_.

* * *

><p><em>When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy. When you are sorrowful, look again into your heart and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.<em>

- Kahlil Gibran

**oOo oOo oOo**

"It's us, Martin. We're not going anywhere and we never will. And I'm sorry, Martin, I'm really, really sorry, but I don't want to see you anymore. Goodbye."

The effort it took Louisa to say these words was far more than the words themselves. The words could have been anything, could have made sense or not, but ever since Martin's tactless dithering about the fragrance she'd been wearing, Louisa had come to what she saw as a painful truth about the man: He could not possibly love her, not if her impromptu kisses did nothing but inspire a clinical discourse on pheromones, mood swings, and the start of a woman's period.

Louisa's sorrow was complete; she felt hollow from her head to her toes and could barely summon the wherewithal to get out of Martin's car. She dared not look at him, for to do so would have shattered her. As it was, merely _thinking_ of the wilted little flower still in his lapel was knotting her stomach.

With gargantuan effort, she opened the car door and stepped out, swallowing against tears, knowing if she cried now, it would only prompt another medical dissertation about her "mood disorder." As she entered her cottage and turned, preparing to close the door, she made the mistake of looking up – and there saw her own anguish reflected in the eyes of the man she desperately loved.

Heart thumping wildly, tears burning in her eyes, she nearly went back to the car, but since Martin never so much as twitched an eyebrow to call her back, it confirmed what her pounding heart already knew: There would _never_ be any going back. She pushed the door closed.

Leaning against the door, taking slow, measured breaths, Louisa heard Martin's car pull away and strained to hear the sound of it for as long as she could. After that, it was entirely too quiet. Oh, she could hear her wall clock ticking and the general hum of kitchen appliances, but otherwise there was no sound but the blood rushing in her ears. She gazed around blankly, absently wondering why she bothered buying that pillow, or what she was doing with those salt and pepper shakers. They were insignificant thoughts, trifling things that made no difference; just her mind's valiant effort to keep her pain at bay.

Her tears had retreated, but they had not gone far, as Louisa knew by the lump in her throat. She was perversely thankful Martin had never been the kind of man who gave gifts, because if her eyes had fallen on some little knickknack of his, she could not have honestly said whether she'd have thrown it through a window or used it to open a vein.

She went to the refrigerator, opened the door and stood staring for a full minute before sighing and letting the door close without removing so much as an apple.

Slowly, she began pulling pins from her hair, dropping them carelessly onto the floor, letting the style fall away until her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders. She ran her fingers over her itchy scalp and then went to her bedroom, intent on changing out of her dress.

In the bedroom, evidence of her decision to buy new shoes lay scattered on the floor at the foot of the bed, and it was this sight that triggered her tears. Falling onto the bed, she clutched a pillow to her chest, curled around it, and wept.

**oOo oOo oOo**

Waking with a start, her eyes sticky and sore, sinuses clogged, Louisa was confused at first as to where she was. Scrubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, she sat up, saw she was still fully dressed, and remembered what had happened. The hurt wasn't gone, but she was relieved to find it didn't feel quite as raw as it had earlier and that gave her some measure of solace. Gaining the edge of the bed, she slipped off her shoes and padded barefoot to the shoebox, where she took great care in placing the shoes in the box. She then peeled off the dress, shook it out, and hung it carefully on the padded hanger made especially for it. It would need to be dry cleaned, but that was for another day.

A few moments in the toilet relieved her eyes, her stuffy nose, and her bladder, and gave her a chance to take stock. A glance at the clock told her it was just past three in the morning, but there was no sleep left in her. Slipping on comfortable clothing and tying back her hair, she went downstairs to the kitchen and peered out of a window. Nothing moved in the darkness, but it was relatively warm and there was a slight breeze. Grabbing a jacket, Louisa went out into Portwenn's night.

The occasional lamp post lit her path, but it wouldn't have mattered if it had been completely dark. This village was her home; she knew the streets well, every dip and bend. She could never lose her way here, no matter the hour. It didn't take her long to reach the harbour, where she sat on an empty lobster trap and listened to the waves breaking against the cliffs, picking at a loose thread at the hem of her jacket.

Daring to turn, she looked up the hillside at Martin's surgery. It was completely dark, and she wondered if he were sleeping, wondered if he had thrown away the little flower, wondered if he cared at all.

Twisting back around to gaze out over the black water, Louisa was tempted to think she might never smile again, but shook her head against this thought, knowing that what she was feeling now, this horrible aching, was temporary, and that eventually she _would_ feel better. But it would take time, and it would probably never be accomplished if she stayed in Portwenn. The thought of leaving made her eyes fill, but she knew if Martin remained the village's GP, she couldn't stay.

Sighing and brushing tears from her eyes and sand from her trousers, she stood, left the waterfront, and began walking the narrow streets of the village she loved, inhaling deeply the salt air, studying every familiar storefront, every cobblestone and street sign, and taking great comfort in it.

The sun was nearly up by the time she got back to White Rose Cottage and tucked herself fully-clothed into bed, asleep before her head hit the pillow.

End Chapter 1


	2. Distress

Title: We Belong, Chapter 2 (Distress)  
><span>Author<span>: DianeB  
><span>Rating<span>: PG-13  
><span>Pairing<span>: Martin/Louisa

Chapter 2 Summary: Louisa's dark night has finally passed, but it remains to be seen whether her day will be any brighter.

See Chapter 1 for Summary, Author's Notes, and Disclaimer

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><p>Waking naturally as sunlight poured into her bedroom, Louisa stretched and quickly checked the time, realising with a start that she didn't have much time to make herself presentable before Holly's arrival. Her body still ached from the memory of what had happened the night before, but at least Holly's presence would keep her from dwelling on it too much.<p>

**oOo oOo oOo**

During the course of the afternoon, Holly had given Louisa plenty to think about in terms of her future, though it was impossible not to jump to Portwenn's defense when Holly started making the place sound like an inbred, backwater dump. More than once Holly had suggested that Louisa join her at her prestigious little school in London. While the offer wasn't exactly Louisa's idea of a dream job, nor a ringing endorsement of her own teaching skills, it _was_ something to consider for the short-term, and it would certainly get her out Portwenn.

Unfortunately, the afternoon ended abruptly with Holly's fall and injury to her back, which just as unfortunately required contact with Martin. Though she addressed him as little as possible and managed to get by with minimal eye contact, Louisa found herself blinking back tears while watching the way Martin focused entirely on the medical emergency at hand. The man may have had deplorable bedside manner and no sense of romance, but no one could ever accuse him of ignoring someone in genuine medical need.

It was one of the reasons why she loved him so much.

Shaking her head to dispel the demons threatening to overwhelm her, Louisa turned her attention to the local fisherman – the _yokels_, as Holly would surely describe them – who had come immediately to Holly's aid, assisting Martin by not only finding a suitable backboard on which to carry Holly, but actually carrying her all the way to Louisa's cottage. Though she knew Holly would never acknowledge what the men had done for her, the sight of them enthusiastically helping made Louisa's heart swell with pride for her little village, leaving just a bit less room for the ache.

**oOo oOo oOo**

That night gave Louisa more insight into Holly's spoiled and demanding personality than she'd ever thought possible, and it also gave her a crystal clear idea of where she would _not_ go if she left Portwenn.

Martin arrived the next morning to check on Holly, and from the moment he opened his mouth, something seemed "off" about him. When he began using words like "tummy," and "brave girl," Louisa knew without doubt something was up. Martin simply didn't say words like _tummy_. Ever.

Accosting Martin at the far end of the bed, Louisa asked _sotto voce_ why he was being so weird with Holly. "I'm _not_ being weird," he replied, as if he were appalled at the very idea.

"Yes you are," she insisted, because she knew perfectly well he _was_. "You're being all-all…_smarmy_."

"I'm not being _smarmy_," he said, clearly exasperated, "I'm helping your horrid friend. What do you want me to do?"

Holly interrupted with a demand, preventing Louisa from commenting further on Martin's behaviour. Martin went back to the business of treating Holly, still being distinctly weird. And then he abruptly announced he was finished and went straight out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Louisa, busy trying to appease Holly, was unready for his speedy exit and nearly twisted her ankle racing down the stairs to catch him before he went out the door. "Martin?"

He turned in the open doorway. "Okay," he started in a challenging tone, "so what was wrong with that?"

His question confused her, as did his tone. She wasn't really sure why she'd chased after him, but it certainly wasn't to face some sort of confrontation. "With what?"

"When I was being congenial. Why do you _always_ find fault?"

She felt the bottom drop out of her stomach at his accusation. "Me?" It was like he was cross at her for asking him about what he _had_ to know was his own strange behaviour!

"Yes, _you_," he snapped. "I don't think you know _what_ you want."

She absolutely could _not_ figure out what any of it had to do with her, and questioned him point blank, even as a spark of comprehension began to light in her brain.

He blustered without really answering, just as the spark fired into understanding: he was playing at being nice for _her_ benefit, not for Holly, in some ill-conceived notion that doing so would suddenly put everything right between them. What it did instead was make her feel like she was being blamed for all their troubles, like he was the agreeable one, and _she_ was the one who could never be pleased. The idea was as rotten as the bass in the bin behind the fish market and it made her very angry. "There's no good _acting_ nice, Martin," she snapped right back at him. "You've got to _want_ to."

And here Louisa got a full dose of Doctor Martin Ellingham when he bellowed, "Why?" and stormed out the door, slamming it behind him and leaving her blinking in his wake.

Holly moaned for help at this point, and as unwelcome as it was, it gave Louisa something more productive to do than feel sorry for herself, or – as anger welled up to overtake self-pity – yell after Martin that he could go straight to hell, deciding with grim satisfaction that hate was a _much_ better emotion than love, forgetting that the two were merely opposite sides of the same coin.

Even as she was snarling to herself, it _did_ occur to Louisa that yelling obscenities down the street would do nothing to strengthen her point about acting nice, much less her standing as Head Teacher, and so saw the wisdom of holding her tongue, no matter how much gratification yelling would've given her.

Climbing the stairs as Holly added another decibel to her moaning, Louisa blew out a sigh and marveled at the way a single human being could be torn into so many bits, yet still remain whole.

End Chapter 2


	3. Delight

Title: We Belong, Chapter 3 (Delight)  
><span>Author<span>: DianeB  
><span>Rating<span>: PG-13  
><span>Pairing<span>: Martin/Louisa

See Chapter 1 for Author's Notes and Disclaimer, and Chapters 1 and 2 for Summaries

* * *

><p>A couple of hours later, Louisa returned from the market to find Holly up walking around. No amount of insistence could get her back to bed, and in the end Holly's claiming she wasn't going to "do anything stupid" went pear shaped when she slipped and fell directly on the milk bottle she'd been holding, unconscious the instant she hit the floor.<p>

Martin's swift arrival and subsequent heroic actions to save Holly's life left Louisa with more than just a sense of awe about him. He was indeed a miracle worker, and she knew – whether they were together or not – nothing would ever change that. As the ambulance pulled away with Holly, Louisa turned to Martin and said what she knew was the truth. "That was brilliant."

Looking everywhere but at her, he said, "I'll get my bag," and went around her into the cottage.

Louisa followed a moment later, catching Martin washing his hands and then watching as he pressed a paper towel into his palm, squatted down, and carefully began picking up shards of broken, bloody glass. "It's all right," she said, feeling a sense of detachment in speaking to him with any sort of normality, but at the same time not wanting him to have to deal with any more blood, "I'll-I'll do that later." He didn't say anything, but neither did he stop, so she simply joined him in picking up pieces of broken glass. When she had a small handful, she looked up at him. Again, he said nothing, but held out the paper towel so she could place the glass into it. They worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the bits of glass clinking together on the paper towel.

To Louisa, the moment felt surreal, like they were together, but _not_ together, and she couldn't tell whether Martin felt the same or not. In fact, she couldn't tell whether Martin was feeling _anything_, positive _or_ negative. And that was perhaps the most surreal part of it all.

When most of the glass was picked up and placed in the bin, Martin hefted his bag and the defibrillator and finally spoke. "I'll be off, then," he said, and walked toward the door.

Louisa stood conflicted. She didn't want him to leave, but neither did she know how to make him stay, so she simply voiced what was in her heart. "You're an extraordinary man, Martin."

In typical fashion, he shook his head and denied it, and walked out of her line of sight.

That was it, then, Louisa thought with chilling finality, staring at the space he had just vacated. He was gone, from her cottage and from her life. Suppressing a shudder, she began making plans in her head. Holly would definitely need help now, so her best bet would be to leave Portwenn as soon as possible, staying with Holly and helping her recuperate, as horrible as that prospect sounded. It wouldn't take her long to get things sorted at school, though it might be difficult to find a tenant for the cottage…

"Marry me."

It was Martin. Still at the door. But that couldn't be, could it? Certainly not. He was gone. She'd just resigned herself to it. But those two little words echoed in her brain until doubt settled in, with fear following closely behind. If she didn't say something soon, he would leave for real, and then she would never know whether he had actually said the words or she had imagined them. Softly and with great trepidation she asked, "What was that?"

She heard him drop his bags and then he reappeared in the archway. "Please, Louisa," he said, his expression as tortured as she'd ever seen it. "I can't bear to be without you. Will you marry me?"

Joy was suddenly hers. She had _not_ imagined it, and in that instant, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from her. All her sorrow vanished and she felt as light as air. "Yes," she said, unable to stop her voice from cracking. "Yes, Martin, I will." Flying into his arms, she had one dot of worry that he wouldn't accept her before she felt his arms go around her, felt him cling to her as if she were life itself.

Whispering her name over and over, he tightened his hold to the point where she feared the ability to take another breath. She squirmed a bit and tried to get his attention. "Martin? Martin!"

"What? Oh!" He clearly understood the cause of her alarm, because he immediately loosened his grip enough to allow her to slide down so her feet were on the floor.

Louisa thanked him demurely, played at smoothing her ponytail, and stepped back to take a hard look at him. He looked ragged and vulnerable – and as handsome as she had ever known him to be. "You _are_ extraordinary, you know that, don't you?"

He shook his head. "No, no, I told you, I'm—"

She came forward again and cut him off with a finger against his lips. "No, none of that. Besides," she said, removing her finger and lowering her hand to his, "I believe you asked me to marry you, said you can't bear to be without me, right?" Emboldened by her bliss, she moved against him and ventured a cheeky remark. "Well…I think this needs a _much_ closer, much more _personal_ examination, but I swear, Martin, if you say anything about mood swings or menstrual cycles, I'll knock you straight into next week."

For once, it was abundantly clear he understood both her innuendo _and_ her wit without her having to explain. "I won't. Cross my heart," he said, making a vague crossing motion in the vicinity of his heart.

As Martin went to gather her into his arms again, Louisa put her arms around his neck, gave a little hop, and this time brought her legs up to encircle his waist. This surprised him, as she knew it would, but it also delighted him, as she could tell by things other than the smile on his face.

The Very End.

**oOo oOo oOo**

_Whatever we deny or embrace,  
><em>_For worse or for better,  
><em>_We belong together._

-from the song "We Belong," as sung by Pat Benatar


End file.
